by Akart, Bobby
Revenge was like a storm. It was easy to lose your way in a storm even though you weren’t far from your destination.
After the attack and subsequent rescue of Hannah, he’d now be calling upon some of them to risk their lives. However, this time, it was for more than the Cortland family. It was for the sake of God and country.
As the pilot swooped across the Outer Banks along the Atlantic Ocean, Cort caught a glimpse of several fishing boats bringing in their catch. The abundance of fish off the North Carolina coast was a necessity as the food supply chains in America came to a screeching halt.
Corporate farming operations, which made up most of the grain production in America, had stopped due to excessive costs and fuel shortages. Fruits and vegetables, the majority of which were produced in California, never made their way to the eastern half of the U.S. In Mexico, Central, and South America, countries that ordinarily picked up production of fruits and vegetables when California’s growing season ended, imports to the U.S. stopped in order to focus on feeding their own.
As a result, communities and geographic regions stepped up their own food production. States that bordered the oceans began to rely heavily upon their fishermen. Governors allocated fuel reserves to the fishermen to the detriment of other industries. State and federal coastal patrols were established to protect the fishermen, both while on the open sea from pirates, who’d begun to attack the boats at the end of the day’s catch, and when they arrived in port, where crowd control was necessary to fight off hungry residents.
The seasoned pilot circled the Haven twice, banking at a sharp angle to view the area around Haven Barn, where Cort had instructed him to land. Cort saw members of the Haven security team scramble to get into position. He had worked with Alpha long enough to know that he wouldn’t order his people to fire upon the chopper despite its intrusion into the Haven. Dropping a helicopter into the middle of the Haven’s security would’ve been suicidal, and also, Alpha didn’t have itchy trigger fingers.
The pilot expertly set the Bell down as grass, small rocks, and dirt began to swirl in the air, driven by the downward thrust of the fifteen-million-dollar aircraft. Any members of the Haven who’d ventured out from behind their protective cover immediately scampered back behind a tree or rushed to cover their faces from being pelted.
Amidst the deluge, the pilot began to shut off the engines. As the powerful rotor blades slowed, the residents of the Haven began to show themselves. Cort, as the only recognizable passenger, departed first. He told the security team to hold back until he’d taken a moment to explain.
With the assistance of the pilot, Cort emerged from the chopper and immediately waved at Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, who’d taken up positions on the edge of the forest about twenty yards apart from each other.
“It’s all good!” shouted Cort, waving his arms toward Alpha. “These guys are here to help.”
Alpha emerged from the woods first, and then Ryan appeared unexpectedly from Cort’s left. Several other members of the security team emerged from the barn to his right. By the time they entered the clearing, the rotors had stopped and Cort didn’t have to shout.
“Ryan, Alpha, everybody,” he began, “I’ve got lots to talk with you about. First, let me tell you that Meredith and Hannah have remained at her family’s home in Connecticut.” He turned to the chopper and waved at the operatives, who kept their weapons ready but stayed within the interior compartment. One by one they emerged, wearing khaki pants, long-sleeved black shirts, sunglasses, and dark caps—the uniform of the private contractor.
Alpha stepped toward them and sized up their appearance. He provided them an imperceptible nod, a tribute, as recognition swept over both groups. They might not have known each other personally, but they certainly knew who the other was, in their souls.
Alpha turned to Cort. “You brought the cavalry.”
“Sort of,” said Cort. “These guys will be at your disposal. If you’d like them to stay out of your way, they’ll patrol your outside perimeter. If you want to use them on the inside, you can. Either way, they’re staying to fulfill a role in support of the Haven.”
“Why?” asked Ryan, who walked up to Alpha’s side to study the newcomers.
“I’ll explain,” replied Cort. “But before we get into details, I want you to see some of the presents I brought from my father-in-law.”
Cort approached Trowbridge’s operatives and gave them instructions to unload the crates of weapons and military-grade gear designed to both enhance the security capabilities at the Haven and to be used in any mission that might materialize in support of Cort’s targets.
Simultaneously, Alpha waved Bravo and Charlie forward as the ex-military personnel got acquainted with Trowbridge’s people. There were laughs and high fives exchanged as the military hardware was unloaded.
Ryan joined Cort’s side, who said, “I come bearing gifts.” It was a reference to the Three Wise Men bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh to Jesus upon his birth.
Ryan chuckled and watched intently as the group unpacked the crates and passed the weapons around. “Yeah, there’s another old saying that goes something like beware of Greeks bringing joyous bounty and endowments.”
Cort let out a hearty laugh, his first in a long time. “Does that chopper look like a Trojan Horse to you? If it was, the target, me, would’ve been dropped somewhere over the Atlantic and they would’ve gone back to George’s place.”
Alpha had wandered back to Cort and Ryan. “Very nice, Cort. Your people are on the ball.”
“They’re our people now,” said Cort before adding, “to an extent.”
Ryan continued to be skeptical. “I feel a but or some other some-somethin’ comin’.”
Cort looked both men in the eyes and patted them on the shoulders. “Fellas, we have another operation to undertake. As Jefferson said, the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It’s time to water the tree of liberty.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Haven House
The Haven
While Bravo and Charlie worked with Trowbridge’s security personnel to get unloaded, the rest of the group made their way to Haven House to listen to Cort’s proposal. Tom and Donna Shelton were already there with Blair. Delta was called up from the front gate, and Hayden, who had taken a team outside the Haven to go hunting, was recalled to join them.
It was dark when Hayden arrived, and the rest of the group had made small talk over dinner while they waited. A roaring fire warmed the living room, and rather than sit formally around the dining table, Cort suggested everyone get comfortable while he took a seat on the massive stone hearth.
“I feel like daddy is about to tell us a story,” said Hayden with a mouthful of venison stew. This drew a laugh from the crowd, and some playful teasing was thrown in Cort’s direction. The group had always been close, but the attack and Hannah’s rescue had brought them together as a family.
“Well, in a way, what I’m about to propose sounds like it comes straight out of a political suspense novel,” began Cort. “Let me lay it out for you and confirm some of the things we already suspected.”
“You mean as it relates to the New Year’s attacks,” interjected Donna.
“And afterwards,” added Cort. “My father-in-law, using his right-hand man, Hanson Briscoe, was responsible for the attacks that occurred New Year’s Eve. There are lots of reasons for his ill-conceived plan, but the bottom line is it set off a course of events that has escalated since.”
“He tried to have you killed?” asked Hayden, who was still eating.
“No, that was Briscoe. You see, George is dying. In fact, his health has rapidly deteriorated since the first of the year. Even before that, however, Briscoe wanted to be the heir to the political machine that George had built. When it became obvious that George intended to turn over his power base to me, Briscoe had to take me out.”
“Whoa!” exclaimed Hayden, who
abruptly stopped chewing and swallowed her last bite. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to King Cort, the second most powerful man in Washington behind my number one client.”
“King Cort?” Blair asked with a chuckle. “Are you kidding?”
“No, Blair, not at all,” replied Hayden. “George Trowbridge has his finger in every pie, thumb on every politician, and has the ability to direct virtually every decision that has a geopolitical impact on our nation. Cort is the new George Trowbridge.”
“Not until he passes,” interrupted Cort. “I want to downplay the magnitude of what Hayden has described. I want you guys to know that I never sought this job, nor am I fully prepared to take it. I assumed Briscoe or another one of the Bonesmen would be anointed the head of the Trowbridge political kingdom.”
“These guys are Skull and Bones?” asked Tom.
“Yessir,” replied Cort. “Another long story but suffice it to say that a feud that began thirty-five years ago has resulted in America being on the brink of a second civil war, and my father-in-law fired the first shot.”
Alpha chimed in. “They were cannon blasts. But somebody decided to fight back.”
“Yes. György Schwartz and his son, Jonathan,” said Cort. “They control the myriad of so-called grassroots protest movements around the country. They fund these groups and therefore can dictate where they wreak havoc.”
“How does this explain the involvement of Chepe in the attack upon the Haven?” asked Ryan.
Cort furrowed his brow, as he still was not one hundred percent sure of the answer. “Jonathan Schwartz, who took control of the anarchists because his father has been arrested, decided to sic the dogs on me as payback for George orchestrating his father’s arrest. Or Briscoe and Schwartz are working together.”
“They hate one another,” said Hayden.
“Adversity makes strange bedfellows, counselor,” joked Tom. “The question is what would prompt Briscoe to take the extraordinary step of drawing the Haven and Cort’s family into his personal quest for power?”
“It’s a vendetta,” replied Cort. “George tried to assassinate Briscoe several days ago and failed. The man has fallen off the radar, and it’s possible he has teamed up with Schwartz.”
“That would be an odd coupling,” said Hayden with a chuckle. “Cort, you obviously have something in mind. Am I correct?”
Cort nodded and stood in front of the group. “While I agree with my father-in-law with respect for the need to jolt our country back onto the right path, I wholly disagree with his methods. Too many innocent lives were lost. I believe there could have been a better way.”
“Such as?” asked Ryan.
“Targeted assassinations of those responsible for sowing the seeds of discontent,” he quickly replied as if he’d been thinking of the subject matter for some time. “Without creating martyrs, the most prominent voices of the opposition could’ve been silenced using several methods. But what’s done is done. Now we have to stop the bloodshed and give the president the opportunity to bring the nation back together.”
“Is he capable?” asked Delta.
“I think he is, but he has to do it in such a way that spans the political abyss. He has to look less divisive and more like a reconcilliator.”
“Reconcilliator,” Blair began to ask. “Is that even a word?”
“It sounds like a George W. Bush word,” replied Ryan with a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Cort, who enjoyed the ribbing. “You guys know what I mean and that’s what matters. My point is this. If we want to put an end to this and make the president look good in the process, we need to mete out justice to the two people who are the heads of their respective snakes.”
“Briscoe and Schwartz,” said Ryan.
“Right,” replied Cort. “If we can take them out before inauguration day, Wednesday the twentieth, which is fast approaching—”
“It is?” asked Donna. “I’ve lost all sense of time.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Blair. Then she directed her question to Hayden. “Okay, let me ask the president’s attorney something. Hayden, you and Cort are inside-the-beltway types who understand Washington’s way of thinking. Would the president be better off if these two were eliminated?”
Hayden thought for a moment and responded, “He’d be better off if he took advantage of a decline in hostilities rather than having to deploy the U.S. military on American soil in violation of posse comitatus. He’d be setting a dangerous precedent to do that.”
“I agree,” said Cort. “By removing Briscoe and Schwartz from the equation, the titular heads of the two warring sides of the aisle will no longer be able to direct their ground troops, so to speak. The Schwartz funds to the anarchist groups will be cut off. Briscoe’s power over military and law enforcement resources will be taken away.”
“Makes sense,” said Ryan.
“Okay, where are they?” asked Alpha.
Cort grimaced. “Um, I have no idea. I need to use X-Ray to find them.”
“Can you trust him?” asked Blair, who felt better about the young man but still had lingering doubts.
“I have to. With Briscoe alive and still pulling the strings of his operatives, I’m not sure who I can trust. Besides, I’ve already elevated his security access to make it easier. I also have new communications, satellite, and computer gear to help him.”
“These new men,” began Donna, “the ones you brought along, are they going to search for Briscoe and Schwartz?”
Cort shook his head. “No, I’d like to pick a team and do it ourselves. They’ll remain here, under Ryan and Blair’s direction, to protect the Haven while we’re gone.”
“Why don’t you use the operators?” asked Blair. “They’re better trained than our people.”
“Maybe,” replied Cort. “However, there is the matter of trust and loyalty. You see, they aren’t aware that our targets include Briscoe. They think they’re here to assist in the Haven’s security. I need to keep our mission close to the vest.”
Blair continued to play devil’s advocate. “Schwartz and Briscoe have resources, too. What makes you think they haven’t surrounded themselves with an army of operators like your new guys?”
“They’re probably more cautious than I am at the moment. Both of them are on the run while I’m on the offensive. They just don’t know it yet.”
“It gives us an element of surprise,” muttered Alpha. “If they’re together, hiding out, they may have reached a false sense of security because of the passage of time.”
“Exactly,” said Cort. “Listen, one of the first conversations we had as a group when everyone arrived was the meaning of the letters MM in the cryptic texts some of us had received. It took an eight-year-old boy to point out the obvious. George Trowbridge envisioned a clandestine army of Minutemen who’d leap into action when the opportunity presented itself. He called on the Minutemen and, depending on how you look at it, they performed admirably.”
Cort paused to study the faces of his new, extended family. He wanted to gauge their reaction before he asked them to take a big risk, not only for him, but for their country. He’d never considered himself an orator, but in the moment, he found himself channelling patriots from years past.
“I’ll be taking control of the Minutemen as George’s days on Earth dwindle. That said, for now, I need Minutemen of my own to correct the course he envisioned and start anew. I hope that you all will be with me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Schwartz Lodge
Near Kutztown, Pennsylvania
Over their days holed up together at Schwartz’s Lodge in the hills outside Kutztown, Briscoe and his adversary had become friends. Naturally, they discussed politics, a topic that consumed their lives both before and after the New Year’s attacks. They also discussed world affairs, finance, and America’s world standing. Their discussions never became heated and oftentimes resulted in a point-counterpoint type of exchange in which the two men talli
ed their points and kept score.
The consensus, usually after an emptied bottle of brandy or two, was that both sides of the political spectrum wanted the same thing, they simply disagreed on the means of achieving their goal.
They were fully aware that chaos was rampant in the streets of midsize to large cities. Oddly, they observed, small hamlets like Kutztown remained largely unaffected by violence. Kutztown was, however, feeling the pinch of the collapse of the nation’s economy. America’s critical infrastructure such as utilities, albeit intact in the majority of the country, still couldn’t help the crippling of the internet and the world’s financial markets.
The inability to process payments for goods and services struck the U.S. especially hard. It was a society built on credit and the use of plastic to exchange money for products. Over the past two decades, the nation had become a cashless society more and more. It was not unusual for a McDonald’s customer to whip out a debit card to pay for their kid’s Happy Meal.
This followed on the heels of a century-long process in which cash replaced precious metals as a means of currency. Long before President Richard Nixon announced that the U.S. dollar would no longer be backed by gold in August of 1971, the use of gold and silver as a method of payment had disappeared.
After New Year’s Eve, precious metals in the form of gold, silver, and even junk silver, a term used to describe U.S. coinage that was minted prior to 1965, became the currency of choice. In reality, older quarters were anything but junk, as they were made of ninety percent silver, compared to the newer quarters, which combined nickel and copper to create the twenty-five-cent coin.
A barter marketplace had been created in Kutztown, which predominantly accepted junk silver as payment for ordinary household products, and pure silver and gold for larger items of value.
Jonathan had a small quantity of precious metals and currency stored in a safe at his family’s lodge. He and Briscoe were careful not to throw money around, hoping to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. On their shopping excursions, they didn’t go to any shopping location twice in successive trips. They wore hunting gear to blend in and tried to avoid casual conversation.